


Flower Theft

by kissinggfish



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Character Death, Minor Character Death, One Shot, Short One Shot, flower picking, graveyard visits
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-31
Updated: 2019-07-31
Packaged: 2020-07-27 17:23:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20049757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kissinggfish/pseuds/kissinggfish
Summary: "i steal flowers from your garden on my way to the cemetery, but today you've caught me and have demanded to come with me to make sure the "girl is pretty enough to warrant flower theft" and i'm trying to figure out how to break it to you that we're on our way to a graveyard"





	Flower Theft

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by tumblr user awful-aus
> 
> also, this is my first fic in literal years. pls be kind

Adrien Agreste was five when his mother passed. He started visiting her grave alone when his father became listless and withdrawn. He always brought her favorite flowers. Always. At first, he picked flowers from her garden. She always had the most gorgeous blooms in Paris and Adrien could have spent hours in the greenhouse just staring at the petals.

When he was twelve, his father decided to demolish the greenhouse. Adrien allowed himself to cry the rest of the night. The last piece of his mother’s presence in the huge empty house was the mural in his father’s study. He wasn’t allowed in the study anymore. Adrien couldn’t remember why, but he learned long ago to stop questioning things.

He didn’t have the green thumb his mother did. Just another trait he inherited from his father, he laughed, everything died under his care. He stopped at the flower shop on the way to the graveyard now. They kept a healthy stock of flowers, but not as pretty as his mother kept.

At eighteen, Adrien moved out of his father’s house and into a small house in the fourteenth arrondissement. His mother was buried in the Montparnasse Cemetery, so the walk was shorter. He also had to find a new florist, and nowhere in the fourteenth arrondissement was a florist who carried dahlias and irises. For the first few weeks, he bought a random assortment of flowers and called it good enough. It felt wrong to bring the wrong flowers. But, he supposed his mother wouldn’t mind. She never did.

A month in his new house, he found a steady rhythm and a lovely path to take to the cemetery. He also found a cottage that had the most gorgeous garden.

The garden reminded him of his childhood greenhouse. It reminded him of his mother, more than anything. Adrien bit his lower lip and considered his options. Picking a few flowers can’t hurt, right? But, that is most definitely stealing, he scolds. He stole a quick glance up the drive and a cursory glance at the windows. No one was home. No one was around to witness the theft.

His mother’s grave had gorgeous dahlias and irises on her grave that week.

Several weeks passed, and every time he went to visit his mother he would pick a few blooms from the seemingly empty cottage. Adrien passed it other times as well, no one was every home. No car in the driveway, no lights on, nothing. Not a single sign of life inside. The old owners must have kept the garden and when they moved away, the rain and sunshine was enough to sustain it. Adrien felt better to know he wasn’t actually stealing.

On one of the sunniest days that summer, Adrien walked by the abandoned cottage and picked his flowers for his mother.

“Hey!” The voice was shrill, angry. Not unlike his father.

Adrien froze. “Hey?” His reply was meek and childish. To add to his embarrassment of being caught, he hid the flowers behind his back.

A girl stood up from the flower bed he just stole from. “Who do you think you are? I see you almost every week stealing my flowers!” The girl reminds him of his mother, an even bigger pang of guilt hit Adrien. She was five feet something with fierce blue eyes. “This girl better be gorgeous.”

“I- I’m sorry” Adrien fumbled. “I can pay you, if you want? Wait, what?”

The flower girl dusts her hands off and hopped over the little stone fence. “C’mon. I want to make sure this girl is pretty enough to warrant flower theft.” She gestures along the path. Surely she didn’t mean to come with.

“Oh, uh…” Adrien stared at her. “You want to… come with?”

“Yeah, I don’t mind you taking flowers. But, I just want to make sure the girl is pretty enough to warrant the theft.” She laughs. It is light and full of joy. “I keep them because the flower shops around here have no idea how to order what Parisians want.”

“Okay?” Adrien starts walking again. “That’s actually why I snagged some in the first place. They’re her favorites.” He raises the small bouquet in his hand. The cemetery was another fifteen minute walk.

“That’s what I get a lot.” She walks next to him. “My name is Marinette Dupain-Cheng.” She extends her dirty gloved hand.

“Adrien,” He awkwardly shakes her hand and wipes the dirt onto his jeans. “That’s very kind of you to allow this. But, really, I don’t think you want to come with.”

Marinette insists. So, they keep walking.

Adrien bites his lip and stays quiet. How is he going to tell this stranger that he’s been stealing flowers for a grave? Marinette seemed kind, and infinitely more so when she wasn’t mad at him. He almost wanted to just keep walking and find his friend Chloe. Give her the flowers and explain the situation later. But Adrien hated lying.

“So, Marinette,” he broke the silence as they began walking along the property line of the cemetery. “We’re going in here.”

“Oh, yeah, that makes sense. I sometimes cut through the cemetery to save time. I don’t want to make you late for you date.” She opens the gate for him, gesturing he go first.

“Uh, sure.” He walks on the carefully laid path through the graves.

His mother, per his father’s request, wasn’t buried near the other graves. Her headstone was a little more elaborate than the other headstones around her. Her name and life was printed in simple script. There was a quote that Adrien scrawled on it that long faded away. A mourning angel slumped over the pillar. Its wings covered a small vase for flowers. The angel’s hair swept along it’s back. It was modeled after his mother, who would now forever mourn her own death.

Marinette, who had been silent since they entered the cemetery, finally spoke. “What’s this girl’s name?”

“Emilie,” He stopped in front of her grave and smiled.

“When are you guys meeting?” Marinette glanced at her phone’s clock.

“Oh, uh…” Adrien held up the flowers and gestured to the grave. He picked up last week’s wilted blooms and replaced them. “This is my mother’s grave.”

“Oh.” Her voice was barely over a whisper. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. She passed when I was a child,” Adrien knew she wasn’t apologizing for her death. “I visit her every week. Or, at least I try to. Sometimes work is really busy and I can’t make it.”

It was now time for Marinette to be embarrassed. Her cheeks flushed and she began backtracking. “I should, uh… go. I’m terribly sorry I intruded and I was so rude to you earlier.” She backed up a little.

“Don’t be.” Adrien sat down in front of his mother’s grave. That spot hasn’t grown grass in a long time. “You had no idea. I’m sure my mother wouldn’t mind the extra company. I’m the only one who visits anymore.” He pats the ground next to him.

Marinette stays put. “You can… you’re always welcome to pick flowers.”

He nods. “Thank you. We both appreciate it.”

“What do you do?” Marinette sits, further away from the two. “Just… talk at the grave?”

Adrien nods. “It’s nice to, yeah. I tell her about what’s been happening. Like when I started university, and when I moved out.” He points at the angel. “The statue was modeled after her. I always thought it’s like she’s mourning her own death.”

Marinette is quiet, so Adrien continues. “I usually talk until I feel better, if the week was bad.”

“Hi, mom, this is Marinette. She’s the one who keeps the gorgeous flowers I told you about. She was kind enough to let me bring them today.” Adrien realizes now how stupid it was to speak to the stone, especially in front of someone.

He kept talking about his week, completely oblivious to his surroundings. When he was done, he stood up and dusts his pants off. The sun was beginning to set. He looked to his left, where Marinette still sat. Her eyes were watering.

“Are you okay?” Adrien holds out his hand and helps her up.

“Yeah!” She wipes her eyes and motions to the spot he just sat. “It’s very touching. I hope when I die, someone as kind as you will talk to me.”

“I’m sure you will.”

They walk back in silence and Adrien waves her goodbye at her driveway.

The next week Adrien walks to the graveyard, it is raining. Marinette isn’t in the garden either. Flowers in hand, he keeps walking. Why did her presence matter so much to him? He makes a mental note to invite her for tea sometime.

In the cemetery, he notices the dirt next to his mother’s is freshly churned. A small pang of sadness washed over him. It’s always sad when someone dies. He bows his head to the new gravestone and reads the name: Marinette Dupain-Cheng.


End file.
